


player select

by ethandiesofdysentery



Series: multiplayer mode [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alters, Dissociation, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Im Projecting, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24260146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ethandiesofdysentery/pseuds/ethandiesofdysentery
Summary: Ethan's got a problem. Well, three of them. Okay, two of them are really nice, actually. So maybe, like, one and a half problems.Or:hey google, how do i get the people in my head to stop bullying me?
Relationships: Mark Fischbach/Ethan Nestor
Series: multiplayer mode [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2034112
Comments: 17
Kudos: 268





	player select

**Author's Note:**

> i have a fun fact about me. wanna guess what it is?
> 
> disclaimer one: this fic was written by someone who has a dissociative disorder!! this fic draws from MY personal experience, and i dont claim everyone experiences it like this. cool? cool.
> 
> disclaimer two, the usual: this is all fake. mark and ethan arent together. i love mika and amy. you know the drill.
> 
> now please enjoy my self-indulgent projection.  
> -w

Ethan is sitting on his bed.

This is odd, because last he remembers, he was storming out of Mark’s house. It’s not like this kind of thing is abnormal, though. In fact, it’s the exact opposite of abnormal. Ethan is getting tired of this ruining his god damn life but if he’s still home, then nothing that bad could’ve happened. 

The phone in his hand proves him wrong.

It’s his phone - of course it is, he owns one fucking phone. If he was holding any other phone, he’d have a lot of questions, such as _Was this stolen? From who? Which of you idiots did that? Or do I need to check my bank account?_ So thank god that, if nothing else, at least no irresponsible spending has happened. (This time.)

However, as soon as he sees the screen, his heart drops. He’s looking at texts. Texts to Mark. Texts he didn’t write. He skims over the last few. 

From Mark: _I can’t believe you’ve never seen Goonies_.

From Ethan’s phone, but not from Ethan: _i can’t believe i haven’t either! you make it sound so cool_

The texts continue as such.

_Well, it is pretty cool, lol._

_imma watch it sometime then_

_Do you want to come over sometime and watch it together? Not sure how you feel about people talking during movies, so be warned_.

The texts stop here, but there’s one more half-written message yet to be sent. It reads, _lmao is that a date or w_

Ethan deletes the unsent text and grimaces. As if he wasn’t pissed enough already. He wishes this day could’ve never happened. But that’s out of his control, and he hates it.

“If you’re listening,” he says to his empty room, “I just want you to know I will fucking kill you.”

\--

_Four days pre-texts_

Ethan groans, studying himself in the mirror again. He knows he’s spent way too long figuring out - well, trying to figure out - what to wear. He’s a mess of nerves. This is so stupid. Why is this such a big deal? 

“The last fifteen outfits were perfectly fine.”

Ethan groans, smacking himself in the face as if hurting the person that voice belongs to is worth hurting himself in the process. “Miiikaaaa,” he whines, “it’s hard! What would you wear if you were going out on a first date with your best friend?”

“A single outfit,” comes the reply.

Ethan groans, louder, for emphasis. “Are you sure this one is okay, though?”

Ethan watches in the mirror as his face ignores his commands and narrows into an annoyed frown. “Yes,” the person borrowing his mouth answers, “it’s fine.”

Sometimes Ethan wishes he could have a tragic backstory - like someone in horror movies with creepy voices in their head that tell them to worship the devil or something like that. But no. He gets stuck with a backseat-driving, opinion-having, almost-always-right-being asshole of a woman telling him what to do. And it’s way more like “shut up” than it is “hail satan”. 

Mika releases her control over the body and Ethan slumps forward, moaning dramatically. “Stop being the smart one,” he complains.

Back in his head now, Mika’s voice replies, “Never.”

\--

The first person Ethan ever noticed was Noah.

Ethan started talking to Noah when he was seven, and everyone thought his “imaginary friend” was cute, until he was eleven and suddenly it wasn’t. By the time he was nearly twelve, he had given up on trying to tell everyone Noah was real. _Noah_ had given up on trying to tell everyone Noah was real. It took Ethan way too long to realize this wasn’t a “normal” thing that everyone dealt with. In the end, it settled into a routine where Noah would deal with bullies and keep out of Ethan’s way otherwise, as long as Ethan did the math homework.

They talked a lot, but Ethan had learned not to speak aloud when they did. Their conversations, though now internal, remained the casual talk of two long-time friends. Whether in bed staring at the ceiling, or in class when they couldn’t pay attention, it would always be something like:

__

“Eth, did you see the new girl?”

__

“What about her?”

__

“We used to have a t-shirt the same color as hers.”

__

“Oh, so that’s what’s important here, Norbert?” 

__

And Noah would always fake whine, “I told you not to call me my full name!”, and Ethan would always get in trouble, because he’d laugh out loud without thinking, even though he’d heard the joke a million times before.

Ethan loved the era of Noah, because it was before he had to deal with an understanding of what was wrong.

\--

 _Three days pre-texts_

“Ethan! Stop pacing!”

Ethan does not stop pacing.

“Stop pacing, or I will!”

Ethan finally stops, standing still in the middle of the bathroom. “What,” he says aloud, a luxury the privacy of his own home affords him. “Are you getting ready to take over again?” He sounds bitter, and he doesn’t try not to. 

“You know I wouldn’t-”

“But you did!” Ethan says, resuming his pacing, now safe in the knowledge that Mika wouldn’t dare take control now. “I told you not to ruin my date-”

“I didn’t!” Mika insists. Ethan is thankful that so far, she’s speaking only in their head, though it’s probably just because Ethan is doing his best to act like he’s holding her at gunpoint. Hey, if it works, it works. 

“You call interrupting me at the table when I specifically asked you not to-” 

“Ethan!” Mika yells this aloud now, and Ethan is suddenly aware that he’s lost control of their movement. God damn it. “I interrupted you because you forgot to ask if there were peanuts in the food, you idiot! Would you rather have died?”

Ethan wishes he could argue with that. She’s got a point. He always forgets to bring that up, it’s just that it’s usually Noah or Amy who does it for him. But Mika’s been around more and more recently. He’s not sure how to feel about that. 

Mika relaxes her hold on their body, and Ethan is relieved to step back into control. She seems to have realized she’s won. “You’re right,” Ethan mutters, a little ashamed of himself for jumping to anger so easily. He should know better by now. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Mika’s voice is back in their head. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” 

Ethan smiles weakly. “I’m glad too.”

\--

Ethan was fifteen when Mika first decided to wrench away control from him. He was cowering against a wall as some jock decided that picking on a freshman was the best way to spend his time, and suddenly, he wasn’t. It was a shock - Noah would always ask before he fronted, and even if he decided to do so against Ethan’s wishes, he’d at least give warning first. Ethan knew that this wasn’t Noah - he just didn’t know who it _was._

Whoever it was straightened up, gritted their teeth and hissed out, “Call me that word one more time, I dare you.”

The jock seemed surprised that the short figure in front of him had changed demeanor so suddenly, but soon his scowling smile returned. “Okay, f-” 

Ethan was forced to watch in the backseat as his fist flew into the boy’s jaw, causing a cracking sound that couldn’t mean anything good.

That was how Ethan ended up in the principal’s office for the first time in his life. And from there, in therapy, and from there, his therapist gave him a diagnosis he didn’t want to hear. It wasn’t like he didn’t know, he just didn’t want the word disorder tacked on to something that didn’t harm him as much as everyone seemed to think it did. 

He remembers being curled up in a chair in the office’s waiting room, shuddering and trying to pretend his knuckles weren’t stinging. 

“Who are you?” he whispered, breaking his all-important No Talking Out Loud rule.

“Mika,” she answered, not out loud. “And I am not sorry for kicking that guy’s ass.”

\--

 _Two days pre-texts_

Ethan is fucking miserable.

He just filmed the best Unus Annus video of his life, because even if it was the same kind of predictable weirdness that has become monotonous in this year, it was interspersed with Mark throwing him loving looks and kissing his cheek every time he thought Ethan wasn’t looking. It was perfect.

And now Ethan’s at home, sitting on the couch next to a half-eaten roast beef sandwich. He’s not sure how he ended up here, but here he is. He wishes this would stop happening, but then again, he’s been wishing that for years, and it’s never come true. 

“I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Mark,” he whines to the empty room, half-heartedly taking a bite out of the sandwich. It has too much mustard, but it’s fine. Everything is fine. 

“Sorry.” 

Ethan hums to himself, trying to place the voice. Finally, he does. He should’ve known based off of the trademark heavy-mustard sandwich. He sighs, loud and long, and says, “S’okay, Noah. I mean, it’s not. But I’m glad it was you. I trust you.” 

“Oh, you trust _him_?”

Ethan groans, scrubbing his hands down his face. This argument has been building for months now. He doesn’t want it to come to a head, not here, not now. 

A third voice beats Ethan to a response. “Mika. Calm down.”

Ethan is goddamn relieved. Amy hasn’t been up in forever, and if there’s one person who can handle Mika, it’s her. Noah is sweet, but he’s too scared of Mika to do anything about her. Amy, however, can kick her ass in the nicest way possible. 

Everything is silent. For a moment, Ethan panics. Every time this happens, he can’t help but be afraid that maybe none of it is real, maybe he’s been faking this the whole time, maybe he’s just-

“Fine. I just feel like sometimes, you don’t want me around.” The ‘you’ is phrased generally, but Ethan knows it’s meant specifically for him.

He lets his tense body relax, letting out a long sigh. It may not be the best thing to hear, but at least it means they’re still there.

Noah, ever the peacemaker, butts into the conversation in the gentlest way anyone has ever butted into any conversation, ever. “Of course we do! I can’t tell you how many times we would’ve gotten beaten up if-”

“No.” Mika speaks aloud this time - Ethan fucking knows it’s meant to piss him off. “I wasn’t talking to you.” She makes a frustrated noise that might be a word, but if it is, Ethan couldn’t tell you which one. “Besides,” she continues, suddenly quiet, “I’m good for something other than starting fights...right?”

Ethan wants to jump on that, to reassure her that of course she is, but when he feels her control on the body lapse, he knows she’s disappeared along with it. He slumps back, defeated.

“I’m sorry,” Noah says, softly, so deep within their head that Ethan’s sure he’s trying to be as nondominant as he possibly can. He probably still feels bad for taking over without asking earlier. “I shouldn’t have phrased that so badly.”

Ethan is prepared to comfort him, but before he can, they’re sitting up, resting elbows on knees. He had almost forgotten Amy. 

“You’re okay, Noah,” she says, standing up and beginning to fold the blanket that’s haphazardly tossed across the back of the couch. As she finishes and moves to collect the remains of the sandwich, sweeping crumbs off the couch, she goes on. “It’s not your fault Mika’s having trouble. You’re doing your best. She’ll be okay, I promise.”

Ethan can feel the slight tensing of muscles that means Amy knows she can’t promise anything, but Noah doesn’t seem to catch on, and that’s good enough. 

“Okay,” Noah murmurs, and Ethan guesses by the way he seems to fade even deeper into the back of their mind that he’s going to be gone for a little while. That’s okay. At least Amy is still here.

Amy carries the plate over to the kitchen, emptying the last bits of the food into the trash, where the bread crusts already lie. Ethan can’t help but feel warm when he sees that. Noah always cuts the crust off his sandwiches. He hates crusts. It’s nice to see something that reminds him that Noah, at least, is going to be okay. Even if none of the rest of them will.

“I’m going to clean up,” Amy announces, moving to rinse the plate off. There’s a dishwasher, but Amy always insists on handwashing dishes. For whatever reason, she likes doing it. Ethan doesn’t mind. “And then,” she continues, “I think we’re going to go to bed early. We’ll all feel better after a little bit of rest.”

Internally, Ethan smiles. It’s always a relief when Amy’s around. She’s always able to calm everyone else down, and make sure they’re cleaning up, taking meds, walking Spencer, and the like. She may be the only one who Ethan has never once wanted to get rid of.

“Okay,” he says, quietly.

He feels the corners of their mouth turn up as Amy smiles.

\--

Ethan was seventeen when Amy first appeared.

He wasn’t doing great at the time - neither were Mika or Noah, though the former was too proud to admit it, and the latter too kind. He was living in a mess of a room, a mess of a life, trying not to argue with the voices in his fucking head as he tried to cope with losing time and then trying desperately to figure out if anyone had done anything that would require cleanup on Aisle Ethan’s Life. This was happening way too often.

Amy started showing up way before Ethan ever spoke to her. At some point, it started to be that when he blanked out, he would sometimes wake to find his room cleaned, or food made, or homework he had been neglecting done. He knew it was someone new, because this kind of caretaking wasn’t Noah’s M.O., and it most certainly wasn’t Mika’s. But he didn’t try to force whoever it was to come and introduce themselves - he was happy enough with what they were doing, and he didn’t want to make someone so nice uncomfortable.

Eventually, one day, he found himself sitting at his desk at six, despite having last taken a short walk at two. He was only scared for a moment, until he saw that his desk was organized, a sandwich set out for him (an edible one, unlike the ones Noah liked to make), and a note was tucked under the plate. He lightly tugged it out and read it. 

_Ethan,_

__

_I made you a sandwich, and there’s a glass of water on the nightstand. Drink it for real this time, okay? And try and eat food without my help. You need to get better about that_.

__

_Take care of yourself.  
Amy_

Ethan had smiled ever-so-slightly when he saw it, cataloguing Amy’s name in his mind as he set aside her note and started eating the sandwich. Finally, someone was looking out for him. It felt nice. 

Maybe this wasn’t so hopeless after all. 

\--

_A few hours pre-texts_

“Hey!” Mark opens the door, beaming. Ethan steps in, smiling and nodding gratefully as Mark shuts it again behind him.

“Hey yourself,” Ethan says, quickly kissing Mark’s cheek, laughing when Mark pulls a face at him. “Snacks before we film?”

Mark nods enthusiastically. “You just read my mind.”

Ethan follows him into the kitchen, where he finds an increasing variety of chips and granola bars and basically anything edible being spread out on the kitchen counter. Ethan does his best to ignore the usual inner dialogue - _“I want the cheetos.” “We can have cheetos, calm down.” “No, I want them now.” “We need to have something healthy first-” “If I can’t eat my fucking cheetos, I will kill you._ " - and joins Mark in front of the array of foods.

“Any big ideas for filming today?” Mark asks, snatching a small bag of potato chips and ripping it open. Ethan pretends to swoon over his muscles when he does, and Mark laughs.

Ethan shrugs, reaching for the cheetos. “Actually, I-”

He blinks, and he’s on the couch.

Mark is in front of him, turning off the camera. They’re surrounded by the carcasses of colorful balloons, some of which appear to have been written on with sharpie, though none of that is legible now. Mark turns back around, frowning. “Eth, you okay?”

Ethan is not okay. He is fucking vibrating with anger. This has to be a joke. This has to be some elaborate joke because he’s made it clear that no one else is allowed to steal his time with Mark, _especially_ not Unus Annus. In the hopes that maybe he’s somehow wildly misinterpreting this, he tries to non-suspiciously ask about it.

“Wow,” he says conversationally. “Are we done filming already?”

Mark laughs, unaware anything is wrong. “I know, right? I can’t believe we knocked out three videos that fast.”

Ethan is fuming. Three videos? _Three_? He’s about ready to pull that footage and look it over until he finds every single thing that was ruined by whoever did this, and then he’ll fucking murder them-

“I dare you. I fucking dare you.”

Ethan shoots straight off the couch. Of course it’s Mika. Of course it is.

“Excuse me,” he says to a confused Mark, “I need to go...to the bathroom...immediately.”

Before Mark can ask him what the hell is happening, Ethan bolts for the bathroom.

He slides in through the open doorway, too pissed off to bother to shut it. He grabs onto the sink with white knuckles as he locks eyes with his reflection. He can't exactly look Mika in the eyes for real, but he needs something physical to direct his anger at, and this'll do.

Mika speaks before he can, curling their lips into an unhappy sneer. "You can't keep trying to control me."

Ethan wrenches away Mika's hold on their body, leaning closer into the mirror and locking his eyes on those of their reflection. "And you can't keep ruining my fucking life."

Mika grabs control again - it's becoming clear they'll be fighting for the body as well. " _I'm_ ruining _your_ life? At least you fucking have one!"

Ethan falters. He isn't quite sure what that means, and Mika takes his brief hesitation as an invitation to go on.

She leans back from the mirror and slumps, suddenly looking weak and weary. "You don't let me live, Ethan." She's no longer yelling, but her tone is still boiling as if she was. Ethan almost wishes she would go back to screaming again. This is way fucking scarier. "I'm not a pet, Ethan. I'm not some little helper you can call up when you're in a fight, and ignore as soon as you think you no longer need me. I am a fucking _person_ , Ethan. I deserve to have friends and go out and do things and _yes_ , have a friendship with Mark, and I deserve to be able to be something other than a girl trying her best to pretend to be _you_." She lets out a trembling sigh - whether the exhale trembles with fear or anger, Ethan can't tell. "I want to be myself every once in a while, Ethan. I want to be more than just an extension of you."

Ethan is frozen. He can't bring himself to speak, with or without the body. Everything Mika says comes crashing down on him. Damn it, she's right, isn't she? He hasn't been fair to her, not to any of them. Noah and Amy have never expressed feelings like this, but it's entirely possible they feel the same, and are just too nice to say it. Mika _is_ right. She deserves to live.

At least, he agrees with her up to the point where she raises her gaze, locks eyes with their reflection, and says, strong and level, "I'm going to tell Mark."

"Tell me what?"

Mika spins towards the doorway, eyes going wide. She and Ethan are in shared panic now. Ethan can't remember the angry words he was about to throw at her about how she doesn't just get to _tell_ Mark. Right now, the both of them are just frozen in fear.

In the chaos, Mika manages to keep a hold on the control. "How much did you hear?" she asks carefully, hesitantly meeting Mark's eyes as he cocks his head with something like interest.

Mark is silent for a moment, his eyes gliding up and down, examining Mika's defensive posture, her balled fists, her eyebrows knotted together in suspicion, the flash of fear in her eyes. After a moment, he speaks.

"You're not Ethan, are you?"

Ethan wishes he hadn't asked that, because Mika doesn't falter a bit before replying, "No. I'm not." 

With that, she pushes past Mark, walking with steely determination towards the front door. As she walks through the entryway, Ethan's last hold on any kind of power slips away, and that's when his memory cuts off.

\--

Fast forward, press play, and Ethan's here on his bed, scrolling back through Mika and Mark's texts, trying to find any sign of trouble, but he can't pinpoint any. Fuck. This is exactly what she was talking about. She's done no harm - all she did was let someone know she even existed. And Ethan can't fault her for that.

His growing regret is interrupted by loud knocking on his front door, and a familiar voice calling, "Hey, uh…Mika? Or Ethan? Are you in there?"

Ethan makes a mad dash for the door. Oh, fuck. Mark knows Mika by name. That means he _knows_ knows. He can't bring himself to be mad with Mika anymore, but he can definitely be annoyed.

Ethan opens the door to find Mark standing on his porch, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. When he meets Ethan's eyes, he pulls a thoughtful face. 

"Ethan," he says suddenly, right before Ethan can ask him what the fuck he's doing. "Right?" Mark adds, far more uncertainly.

Ethan nods slowly. "Uh, yeah. Right."

Mark nods, looking relieved. "Okay, that would've been really awkward if I was wrong."

"Hm," Ethan responds weakly, trying not to wither beneath Mark's friendly gaze. Mark is so…nonchalant. Ethan has never had to deal with someone finding out before. He'd expected way more…he doesnt't know, anything? Aren't people terrified of people like him? Or some fucked up bullshit like that? Shouldn't Mark be trying to perform an exorcism on him or something?

Mark clears his throat. "I, ah…" He takes one moment, as if he's looking for words, before continuing. "Mika told me…pretty much everything."

Ethan wants to be pissed, feels like he should be, but he's run out if energy to argue. Instead, he gestures vaguely towards the living room. Mark nods and steps in.

Once the door is closed, Ethan takes a seat on the couch, and Mark sits down next to him. Taking a deep breath, he begins, "What exactly did she tell you?"

"She told me you have dissociative identity disorder," Mark responds slowly, like he thinks if he answers wrong, it will set Ethan off. When it doesn't, he keeps going. "She told me she's an alter. She's been around for seven or eight years now. She said there are others, but she'd let you talk about them if you wanted to." He gives Ethan a curious look. "Is this all right so far?"

Ethan nods, his heart nearly beating out of his chest. "Yeah, that's all true."

Mark nods in response. "She didn't really tell me much else. She said you should probably tell me anything else you thought I needed to know. Then we just talked about eighties movies." He tips his head slightly to the right. "Is there? Anything else I need to know, I mean?"

Ethan thinks for a moment, then shakes his head. "No, not really. Not right now." He anxiously meets Mark's eyes. "You're…you're okay with all this?"

Mark nods once, with a decisive finality. "Of course I'm okay with it, Eth. It's just another thing that makes you you." He gives Ethan a big, lopsided smile. "Besides," he continues, "I really like Mika. I think we're gonna be friends."

Ethan groans overdramatically. "But _Mark_ , she's _terrible_. She hasn't even seen Goonies, remember?" 

Mark laughs. "Ah, shit, right. She's the worst." He leans in to give Ethan a quick kiss, and says, "We're all lucky you're the best."

Ethan can't help but smile, relief flooding his system. "So we're okay?"

Mark nods enthusiastically. "Yes, we're okay." He smirks a little, reaching out to tap on Ethan's head with one finger, winking as if he's telling a joke, before elaborating, " _All_ of us."

**Author's Note:**

> AH, PROJECTION.
> 
> anyways i am . prolly gonna make this a series bc i cant like.. talk abt it anywhere else. oof. so if u have any fun ideas for this for me to project upon.. please share
> 
> i love you all. thanx :)


End file.
